Murder on the Tor: An Exham on Sea Cosy Mystery (Exham on Sea Cosy Crime Mysteries Book 3)

by Frances Evesham

  Her fingers shook. Trevor’s letter slid to the floor. “You knew who I was, before I even arrived.” Every moment with Max flashed through Libby’s mind. That first meeting, when he’d walked past her house, taking Bear for exercise. Why had he chosen to walk that way, when he could be on the beach or in the fields? Later that same day, he’d come into the shop as if by accident and whisked Libby away for coffee. She shook her head, trying to clear it, letting in the stark truth. “You’ve been watching me, ever since I arrived in Exham.”

  He put a hand on her arm, but she shook it off, spitting out bitter words. “I understand, Max. I can see it all, now. You thought I was one of Trevor’s―what should I call it―accomplices? You got close to me, deliberately, so I’d lead you to my husband’s ill-gotten gains. And all the time I thought―I hoped...” She clenched her jaw, refusing to cry. “Just tell me one thing, Max. How did Trevor die? Did you, or one of your shady friends, kill him?”

  There. She’d said it. The shocking words were out. Her head was spinning, her heart thudding, blood hammering in her ears. She feared she was about to faint. Max gripped her arm, fingers digging in to her flesh. His eyes, usually so blue, glowed dark in a white face. “Is that what you think? Do you honestly believe I’m a killer?”

  Libby gulped. “I―I don’t want you to be.” She forced the words through dry lips.

  Max let his hands drop. “I had nothing to do with Trevor’s death. That’s the truth, although I can’t blame you if you don’t believe me.” With gentle fingers, he took one of Libby’s hands. “I’ll tell you the truth. You’re right about some of it. I did know who you were, when you moved to Exham. I thought you’d come to tidy up Trevor’s loose ends, and my job was to stop you. I was looking for the mastermind behind the whole criminal conspiracy, and I needed to get close to you, so you could lead me there.”

  Libby pulled her hand away. Her throat burned. “You followed me.”

  “You didn’t notice a thing, until I made the mistake of walking Bear too close to your house, one morning, and he got into a scrap with Fuzzy.”

  “Which Fuzzy won.”

  “She did. That cat’s as feisty as her owner. Believe me, Libby, I soon realised you had nothing to do with your husband’s crimes.”

  “Am I supposed to be grateful?” Her fingers itched to slap his face. It would serve him right. “Anyway, what made you decide I was innocent?”

  “You were too keen to get involved in police business. If you’d been a real criminal, you’d have let the authorities deal with the body under the lighthouse. I could see you were one of two things. Either you were a criminal and hopelessly incompetent, or you were innocent and nosy.”

  She let that pass. “So that’s why you were keen to work with me. To see if I was what I seemed to be.”

  He nodded. “When I realised the truth, I was―well...” He fell silent. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry? Is that supposed to make it all right? You lied to me. And all the time I thought...” She shook her head, trying to clear it, struggling to think. What would she have done, in Max’s shoes? She didn’t have to think for long, before recognising the answer. She’d investigate, of course, as he’d done.

  Max had known she was innocent since last autumn’s murder at the lighthouse. She’d been no more use to him in his hunt for the person at the top of the criminal tree, but nevertheless, he’d stayed by her side, ready to help, watching out for her. She whispered, “In Bristol, I asked if we had a relationship...”

  Max slid one arm round her shoulders and pulled her close. “I was cruel. You took me by surprise. I’d taken so much care to keep my distance, trying to pretend I wasn’t falling for you. I never imagined you gave a fig for me. I thought it was all one way. In Bristol, I panicked and had a few second thoughts. What if I’d got it wrong, and you were Trevor’s accomplice, after all? Maybe, because I wanted you to be innocent, I was making a big mistake.” He grimaced. “I’m not much good at relationships. Never have been. I couldn’t believe my luck, that I stood a chance of getting this one right. So I blew it all.”

  “You should have trusted me.”

  “I know. I was a fool. But I want to put it on the record, now. I’ve cared about you the whole time, Libby Forest, from the moment you first shouted abuse at me in the street. I’d love you, even if you were a master criminal.”

  French toast

  “Well, that was worth waiting for.” Max’s kiss lasted a long time, until Bear, whose humans had spent far too long ignoring him, finished all the food in his dish, gobbled a few tidbits left on the table, and came looking for action. He arrived on the sofa, all over-sized paws and wet nose, forcing Max and Libby apart. Which was just as well, Libby decided, as she had a hundred questions to ask.

  Max grabbed the dog by his collar and led him away. “He lives in the back place. Used to be a gun room, I suppose, when the squire lived here, but Bear’s learned to open the door. I’m going to have to change the lock.”

  As Max filled the dog bowl, Libby made tea and French toast, and laid down a few ground rules. “I’m not standing for any more secrets. I lived half my married life in the dark. If we’re going to―you know.” She knew she was blushing. “If we’re going to be together, I need to trust you. You have to tell me everything you know about Trevor.”

  “Fair enough, I suppose. Trouble is, I’ve got used to being secretive. It’s a habit, these days. Let me try to put it all in order.” He chewed in silence for a moment. “I’ll start at the beginning. I was called in as part of an investigation into Trevor’s insurance company, because there seemed to be some creative accounting going on. I’m afraid Trevor wasn’t a very efficient fraudster.” Libby winced, bracing herself for the worst. “HMRC picked it up first, and passed it on. My job then was to re-audit the finances.”

  Libby nodded. “The tax people never miss a trick, do they?”

  “We could see Trevor was a weak link. He came down to Exham several times, after that first visit with you and the family, and that made us curious. I wasn’t living here, at that time. You and I didn’t meet.” He stopped talking, his eyes on Libby. She knew what he was thinking, because Libby was wondering, as well. What would have happened if the two of them had met, back then?

  He looked away and the spell broke. “He had plenty of insurance customers here, but all the paperwork seemed above board. I realised someone around here was running things. That’s when I moved back. I had the perfect cover, because I grew up in Exham. Local people trust me, and I was the best one to untangle the relationships in the area. Families are so closely woven. Everyone is somebody’s aunt, or step-brother, or second cousin twice removed, and they all look out for each other.”

  “It’s rather lovely, in a way,” Libby put in. “Families are sometimes all you have.” She thought of Ali, on the other side of the world, sending ludicrously short weekly emails, and Robert, planning to bring his girlfriend home. She was almost sure he’d be announcing their engagement.

  She bit into her toast. Max looked so serious, his brows almost meeting. Libby had to pick up her coffee cup to keep from stroking his hair. “I found a reference to property in Leeds, and we sent one of our men up there to rent it, under cover.”

  “Your friend Cal James and his wife. The ones living in Trevor’s house.”

  “Yes. Well, the wife was Cal’s idea―part of the cover story. What is it?” He frowned. “What’s so funny?”

  “Cover stories, laundering money, Mr Big in the Exham area. Who would have thought it, in a quiet seaside town like this? It’s hard to believe.”

  Max’s lips curved, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Unfortunately, it’s true. We’re very close to catching the person at the top of the tree, but I don’t want you involved any more.”

  “Why not? You can’t be afraid anyone’s going to shoot me, are you?”

  This time, Max didn’t even try to smile. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. You’re too good an invest
igator. That’ll be fine, when we’re operating as Ramshore and Forest, Investigators at Large, but it might put you in danger with Trevor’s masters.”

  “Forest and Ramshore, you mean.”

  The smile reappeared. “Whatever. I want you to be safe, Libby. We’re very close to finishing this business, but don’t forget, the criminals have been watching you, as I was. Will you promise to be careful and stop poking your nose in everywhere when I’m not around?”

  Libby sighed. “I suppose I’d better come clean.” She told Max about the visit to Marina’s house. “Chesterton Wendlebury was there. I think they’re having some sort of a liaison. In her own home.” She stopped, thinking about Marina’s husband, Henry. Did he really have no idea what was going on? “I’m convinced Chesterton Wendlebury’s behind it all, though I don’t have any evidence.”

  “You really don’t like that man, do you?”

  She shivered. “His eyes are too close together.” Max was silent. Libby narrowed her eyes. “What aren’t you telling me? I thought we were being honest with each other.”

  His sigh was heavy. “It’s not so much Wendlebury, as his company.”

  “Pritchards.” Libby was triumphant. “I knew it.”

  “Most of their business is above board. Cut-throat, of course, but that’s how they make money.”

  “They tried to buy out the bakery for pennies, when it had to shut.”

  “As I said, that’s business, but they were also running local gangs of petty criminals; the vehicle ringers and cannabis growers. The police closed most down, but they let a few run, so they can gather more evidence. Joe’s been part of the team working on that. He’s known what I’ve been doing all along.”

  “And that’s why you two kept up the pretence of not speaking.”

  “Some of that was genuine. I was a pretty bad father. But we rub along, most of the time.”

  Libby drained the last drops from her mug. “I’m still puzzled by Trevor telling Ali and Robert to do nothing with the houses for a few years. Why would he insist on that?”

  “I’m afraid he tried to be too clever. Your husband thought he could double-cross the gang by putting some of the houses in other names, using the gang’s money. He held on to the properties for a year, thinking he’d covered his tracks, then made them over to your kids, telling them not to sell for a good while. He thought that would be long enough to bury his part in the purchase.”

  “But the criminal bosses found out?”

  “It looks like it.”

  Libby drew a long breath. “So they did have Trevor killed.”

  Lemon cake

  In a corner of Marina’s room, dressed in her favourite shade of brown, sat Beryl, a long-term member of the Exham History Society, sipping Earl Grey tea. Her cup rattled, her hand trembling with excitement at the prospect of presenting a paper to the group. The First Post Office in Exham had been opened by her great grandfather, and she’d been waiting a long time for the opportunity to tell the tale.

  She had high hopes of today’s meeting. True, it had been convened to celebrate the end of the great Glastonbury Tor murder mystery, and the part in the story played by the historic amber beads, but surely there would be a few moments at the end to fill? “I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” Libby whispered, as Detective Sergeant Joe Ramshore and his father, Max, arrived together, looking awkward and uncomfortable as they perched on two of Marina’s antique chairs.

  “Have more cake, darling.” Marina offered Beryl a slice of Libby’s acclaimed whisky and lemon cake. “It’ll settle your nerves.” All the society regulars had come for this special meeting. Even Samantha Watson found time in her important schedule to attend. She held one of Marina’s bone china cups in her left hand, little finger raised, over-sized engagement ring on prominent display. She was due to marry Chief Inspector Arnold as soon as the divorce from Ned, her husband, came through.

  George Edwards gave his wife’s apologies. She’d sprained her ankle. Libby suspected George’s wife’s ills were an excuse; after every meeting, he took home a doggy bag of cake. Chesterton Wendlebury arrived with a flourish, heaved his bulk into the largest, most comfortable armchair, and beamed round the room. “So kind of you to invite me. I’m agog to hear more of Mrs Forest’s adventures.”

  “Well, if we’re all here,” began Angela Miles, one of the society’s founder members, “I’ll ask Libby to tell us about the latest events on Glastonbury Tor.”

  The society listened, enthralled, as Libby told the sad story of Catriona’s murder, so far in the past. “It was hard to get at the truth, after so long. People remember the same event in different ways, even in the best of circumstances. In this case, our university students from the sixties were ashamed of things they’d done or said. Each of them tried to distance themselves from the truth. They couldn’t even agree on the character of Catriona, their friend. Was she beautiful and kind, or greedy and selfish? Why did she hand her child over to adoptive parents; for the sake of appearances, or her career, or to keep the professor’s love? We’ll never know, for sure, but her death led directly to the death of John Williams, so many years later.”

  No one interrupted, even as she took a gulp of tea. “Professor Perivale was confident he’d escaped punishment for pushing Catriona out of the window. I don’t believe he loved either Jemima Bakewell or Catriona. He was driven by a desperate need to maintain his reputation.

  “Imagine how such an arrogant, self-absorbed man felt when he heard about a retrospective exhibition of his old colleague’s work. Those photographs could stir up memories of Catriona’s death and put the professor’s reputation at risk. He couldn’t allow that. He’d managed to commit the perfect crime once, so he was confident he could do it again. Without a second thought, he killed John Williams.”

  Joe took up the story. “The professor blackmailed a failing student to give him an alibi for the time of the murder, and set off an explosion in his own house. As he hoped, that threw everyone off the scent. He used a fertiliser-based explosive, following instructions from the internet. We found them in his browsing history.”

  Max grinned. “He underestimated the force of the blast and landed up in hospital. He wasn’t as clever as he thought, but he did succeed in throwing us off the scent for a while.”

  Joe finished the tale. “We interviewed the professor’s student, who soon realised a failing grade was preferable to a conviction as an accessory to murder. He admitted there had been no tutorial that morning, and the professor’s alibi for the time of John Williams’ murder fell apart. He’s safely in custody, now, condescending to the police officers and convinced he’s still cleverer than the rest of us.”

  As the story ended, Marina poured more tea and Beryl reached into her handbag, groping for the speech. Libby held up a hand. “Sorry, Beryl, there’s something else I have to tell you.”

  Out of Libby’s line of sight, someone coughed. Marina offered cake. “Another story, darling? How simply thrilling. Do tell.”

  “This one’s personal. When my husband brought me to Exham, many years ago, I had no idea he was setting up contacts with local criminals. For years, local vehicle-ringing and cannabis businesses filtered money through Trevor. Max spent months tracking financial deals. All the trails led back here, to Exham.”

  She looked from one face to another, searching for signs of guilt. “One company in particular makes money buying up properties cheaply.”

  Someone murmured, “Pritchards.”

  “Exactly. We’ve all heard they stop at nothing to ruin small businesses. Max had a look at their affairs.”

  Marina rubbed her hands together. “Ooh, Libby, this is too exciting.”

  Samantha Watson set her cup in its saucer. “I’m quite sure the police are far more likely to uncover this―what shall I call it―nest of thieves, than an amateur sleuth like you, Lizzie. I suggest you leave everything to them and stop poking your nose in where it isn’t wanted.”

  Joe intervened. “
Detective Chief Inspector Arnold is well aware of the situation, I can assure you, Mrs Watson. I have his full authority.”

  Samantha tossed her head. “Then, I suggest you get on and catch the criminal.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m here to do.” Someone gasped. “But I’d like Mrs Forest to finish the story.”

  Libby cleared her throat. “I wondered who Trevor knew in Exham, and two people were at the top of the list.” She turned to Chesterton Wendlebury. “You’ve behaved oddly, so many times. You admitted to being on the board of Pritchards, and I’ve bumped into you in some strange places over the past year; at the county show, riding with Marina, out on the Levels.”

  Wendlebury smiled, the shark teeth prominent. “My dear lady. If your friend Max has investigated my business affairs, you know they’re completely in order.”

  Max was smiling. “I’ve read every budget and report you’ve had your hands on, Wendlebury. You’ve done a great job. I couldn’t locate a single suspicious account or strange payment. No, it isn’t you at the top of the tree. You provide cover for someone far more clever.”

  Libby said, “I’m afraid it’s someone who’s always been at the centre of things in Exham. Someone who knows everyone in town and lives a wealthy, innocent life. Someone who made friends with me as soon as I arrived in the town, knew all about my husband’s business affairs, and wanted to keep a very close eye on me.”

  She examined each face. Only one pair of eyes looked away. “In fact, the genius at the top of the whole pyramid of crime is our generous host and town busybody, Marina Stallworthy, aided and abetted by her quiet, hen-pecked husband, Henry.”

  ***

  The shock of Marina Stallworthy’s arrest reverberated through Exham for weeks. The community lost interest in the murder on the Tor, as the townspeople remembered how they’d never quite trusted Marina, and always suspected there was something odd about the inoffensive Henry.